


Into the Dark

by angelastjoan



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-25 12:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelastjoan/pseuds/angelastjoan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5/14 - On Hiatus while being rewritten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Charmer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening: Mumford & Sons - Awake My Soul

I wake to a numb feeling in the right side of my face and a darkness that consumes my vision.  It takes a few blinks of my crusted eyelashes to figure out there is material of some sort hindering my sight.  A blindfold, maybe?  I try to think back to last night and if we had used anything other than our bodies.  Nothing comes to mind.  I raise my hand to remove the offending garment and emit a slight squeal of surprise when I realize I have no control over those limbs.  Twisting my wrists right and then left I feel the silky tension of fur as it rubs against my straining flesh.  My legs are curled up under me and I try to move into a comfortable position, the hard surface against my back unyielding in my aid.

 

His name is a softly exhaled word, laced with uncertainty at the position I am currently in.  "Josh?"

 

Somewhere off to my right I hear him answer.  "Hmm?"

 

I feel the swift rush of relief that he is here and that he can help me out of the bindings.  "Thank god.  Can you get these off of me?"

 

His laugh is a soft caress as he comes up beside me and leans down, his cheek to mine as he whispers into my ear, "Now why would I do that?"  His tongue flicks against the sensitive spot of skin right below my ear, my breath hitching with the action.  And then the flow of his next words wind around inside me, creating a splinter of panic.  "Do you know how much rohypnol it took to get you to where you are now?"

 

I blink as if I haven't heard that right.  "What?  What are you talking about?"

 

His lips trace a slow path down my neck until they rest over my jugular.  He inhales deeply, as if savoring the measure and thump of my pulse.  His mouth drags down to my collarbone and across while his nose traces some scent until he stops a few inches from my sternum.  I cry out as he strikes, his teeth clamping down, a growl rumbling up from his chest.  He relents enough to seal his mouth against my skin and then suck, drawing the blood from the wound onto his tongue.  As he laves the spot with stroke after sensitive stroke I start to panic.

 

In that moment as he soothes my ravaged skin, I begin to cry.  Not just from the pain he has inflicted but because it is all starting to make sense.

 

Josh must have realized I've figured it out and he runs a hand down the side of my face in a calming caress.  "Shhh.  I'm going to take very good care of you."

 

Between the sobs that shake me I question, "Like all the girls before me?"

 

I feel his lips stretch into a smile against my naked skin as if he appreciates my curiosity.  "Exactly like all of them."

 

Because he has answered me I think back to everything I have ever heard about this type of situation.  If you can keep a captor talking you can buy yourself time, right?  So I ask, "How many have there been?  Before me?"  My voice is wavering because I don't want to know the answer and at the same time I have to know.  I have to know I am not alone.  

 

He kisses his way to my chin and pauses there, "That's kinda rude, don't you think?"  There is a pout in his voice as he admonishes me, "I haven't asked you how many men you've been with."

 

Not sure how else to reply, knowing he is still there, staring at me and waiting for my answer, I apologize, “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have asked.”  A large hiccup full of tears catches in the center of my chest and I say between sobs, “It’s none of my business.”

 

He presses a quick kiss to my numb cheek and his tone of voice is full of mirth as he replies, “It’s okay.  I’ll forgive you this time.”

 

He moves away from me and I can hear the metal on metal as it scrapes against whatever he is preparing.  I cry softly, random memories flitting through my mind as I try to distance myself from what is going on behind me.  The last holiday I had spent with my family.  My dogs sitting at home all alone, waiting for me to come back.  My best friend who is getting married next month.  My baby brother’s wife is expecting - I was going to be an aunt.  I flip through every memory, savoring it briefly before letting it go.  I want these to be my last thoughts.

 

Instead I remember the first body they found.  Patches of flesh cut away from the torso, indicating bite marks left behind or even hints of cannibalism.  Nothing was sacred on the internet these days and within hours of the corpse being found there was already speculation running rampant about a serial killer.

 

After the fourth in as many weeks the rumors were confirmed.  Los Angeles was put on as strict a curfew as they could enforce, which didn’t mean much in a city that never slept.  Women were advised not to go anywhere alone.  We were read the riot act about not going home with strangers.

 

I had heeded those words.  Hadn’t I?  

 

Josh Hutcherson isn’t a stranger.  Technically I know everything there is to know about him.  Everything the public is privy to.  The tears running from my eyes soak the edges of the material tied tight around me.  I can hear him as he whistles.  And when he stops the room fills with a bloated silence only broken by the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.  I don’t know how he kills them.  I know they are just wasted torsos lacking appendages when they are found.  Marked with holes cut from them.  Now I know why it’s important for his teeth marks to not be present on the body.  

 

I lay and I wait, hoping to hear him move around but he doesn’t.  I hear nothing.

 

The sudden sound of music piping into the room takes me by surprise and I jerk against my bindings.  Josh chooses that moment to speak, “You know what’s going to happen to you?”

 

My voice shakes as I reply, “I do.”  The saliva gathers in the corner of my mouth and runs down my cheek.  “Why are you doing this?  What happened to you?”  There’s usually a reason, right?  He can’t just be crazy.  My death can’t just be about some sicko getting his rocks off.  My life has to be worth more than that.  “Who made you like this?”  I’m crying and I want nothing more than to alternately run away from him, screaming, and at the same time I have a strong urge to hold him tight and comfort him any way I can.

 

His sigh is heartfelt and I’m stunned when he hooks his fingers into the blindfold and wrestles it up towards my hairline, freeing my eyes.  I blink against the harsh glare of light above us, my right eye not cooperating.  He notices the way it sags because he tsks and says, “I may have used too much rohypnol.”  He thinks about his choice of words and his eyes twinkle as he chuckles.  “Or I guess from your perspective, not enough right?”  

 

I know what he’s implying but his laughter catches and I feel my lips twitch upwards into a smile.  His features soften as he cups my cheek against his palm, his thumb tracing the curve of my top lip.  “I’m going to give you a choice.”  His voice is soft and his sigh is even softer.  My breath catches in my lungs and holds still.  I am hopeful and my eyes widen, reflecting my inner thoughts.  He sees this and shakes his head in amusement, his hazel irises glimmering with delight.  “You’re not going to get that lucky.”  I swallow sharply and nod, afraid to ask what my choices are since neither of them are going to get me out alive.

 

His voice is soothing as he traces his index finger across the arch of my eyebrow and down the gentle slope of my nose.  “Behind door number one we have ten minutes of agony.  I can give you just enough drugs to keep you numb while I do my work.  You’ll stay alive longer that way and feel less pain.”  My eyes start to water again, his face blurring through the wall of tears.  “Or door number two: we can skip the drug cocktail and get right to the fun part.  You won’t last as long.  Your body will shut down from the pain.”

 

My legs twitch under me, free from restraints but I still can’t move them.  I wonder why.  Josh glances down and laughs, his head thrown back as he lets loose.  “Oh, sweetheart.  Those aren’t going to work any time soon.”  He plucks a syringe from my thigh and holds it up for me to see.  There’s a milky substance inside the clear tube and he tosses it to the side where it skids across the concrete floor.  “I had to make sure you couldn’t get away, right?”  He pats my thigh.  “Okay, so what’s it going to be?”

 

I swallow, the fear clouding my judgement as I say, “Two.”  He sits back and studies me.  It’s the surprise on his face that has me changing my mind, “One!  I mean one!”

 

He laughs and one side of his lips lift in a charming grin.  “I think we’re going to stick to your first choice.”  He leans down and presses a firm kiss to my lips, pressing against my teeth.  He pulls back and rubs his nose against mine as if he’s talking to a lover.  “Door number two just happens to be my favorite.”  He stands upright and winks before picking up a remote beside the metal slab I’m on.  There’s a towel or blanket under me to keep me from touching the cold metal but after looking down at my pincushion legs I can see it’s an embalming table with deep motes running along the sides to drain any fluids.  The music turns up louder and Mumford and Sons fills the space around us.  

 

He moves away from me and I swallow convulsively when he’s out of sight.  He crosses the room with purpose, his stride sure and strong.  He glances over at me and notices my wandering eyes.  He shoots that movie star smile of his at me and picks up a scalpel.  He walks back to me and places the edge of the blade to my shoulder where he bit me earlier.  His voice has a conversational quality to it as he announces, “You wanted to know why, right?”  The blade pricks my skin and I wince, crying out with the strike of pain.  He laughs and digs a little deeper, the searing burn threatening to pull me under already, “There isn’t always a reason for everything that happens, Cadence.”  It’s the first time he’s used my name since last night.  He uses his other hand and puts pressure against my arm to hold my shoulder down while he slices again.  I gurgle against the onslaught of pain and my hips lift against the restraint across my waist.  

 

I don’t realize it but I’m apologizing as I sink below a surface.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry, Josh.”

 

He raises his eyes from the patch of my skin he’s butchering and looks down at my face.  “Don’t be sorry, Cady.”  He digs one final time and then using his fingers, now covered with a layer of latex, he grips my flesh and pulls it off.  He holds up the quivering mass of blood covered skin and pulp and smiles as if he’s won a prize.  My eyes roll back in my head as he licks his tongue against the mass of flesh.  “You’re giving me exactly what I want, sweetheart.”  He drops the chunk onto the empty space between my parted knees and traces a finger between my breasts.  I turn my face to the side and throw up, my eyes clamped shut against the dizzy spiral as the room violently spins around me.  Josh’s laughter is the last thing I hear and his teeth biting into the underside of my breast is the last pain I feel as I slip into an unending darkness that swallows me into its vastness.

 

 


	2. The Killer

_“In headline news tonight, it has been officially announced that another mutilated body was found early today in Lake Hollywood Park.  As with the previous discoveries, the young woman is believed to be in her middle to late twenties.  There are no suspects at this time.  The LAPD has asked that you stay inside and take every precaution if you must go out at night.”_  
  
I CAN HEAR the evening news through the vent above my head and to the right. I shift my legs under me in a quasi-Indian-style sitting position. My ankles are rubbed raw from the cold concrete underneath me. Saliva runs down to my chin from my open mouth. The gag tied around the back of my head makes it impossible to swallow properly. I can’t form words but I can make noises and when the light at the top of the stairs brightens with the opening of the cellar door, I make a noise now. It’s a strangled whisper and I stay as still as possible, chains barely scraping the cinder-block wall behind me.  
  
Sometimes if I’m quiet he walks past me like I’m not there.  He does so now. Coming down the steps, whistling a jaunty tune. I cast my eyes to the floor, trying to make myself disappear.  
  
He walks right past me to the wrought iron gates with their ornate scrawl across their bars that open into the wine racks lining the walls of a smaller, much more narrow room. He takes his time choosing a bottle, his whistling pauses long enough for him to say, “What goes best with Italian?  Red or white?”  
  
I keep my gaze cast downward to my dirty bare feet.  I don’t answer because I’m not sure if he’s addressing me or himself.    
  
He chuckles, amused by a stray thought perhaps, before he answers his own question.  “White, I think.  A nice Pinot Blanc to accompany dinner tonight.”  
  
My face is tilted toward the ground and I can’t swallow so I let my saliva drip, drip, drip in a steady stream down to the dirt covered floor, inches from my toes.  My arms are quivering from the strength it takes to hold them so still.  The chain looped from the iron eyelet screwed into the wall is just a quarter of an inch too high for me to be able to rest comfortably.    
  
Josh appears in front of me suddenly, a dark green bottle with a gold label wrapped around it in his right hand, his phone in his left.  
  
“Did you hear, K?  They found the last one.”  
  
I jerk my head in what could be a nod but is more surprise than agreement.  He doesn’t speak to me often and he rarely calls me by name.  Or initial as it were.  
  
He stands so very still in front of me that I try to stop breathing, try to will my heart rate down.  I can barely hear anything over the pounding in my ears and I wonder if he can hear it.  I feel like he’s waiting for me to look up at him and I can’t.  I can’t meet his eyes with mine.    
  
The chains around my ankles feel tighter suddenly as if reminding me I’m not going anywhere soon.  As if I need reminding.  
  
And then he’s squatting in front of me.  His dark jeans the matching color of the tattoo on his wrist.  The white of his shirt so clean and so out of place.  So bright in the darkness that I have to blink fast to adjust my sight.  A thick rope of drool falls towards the space between his parted knees, plopping onto the concrete.  Josh’s eyebrows come together.  “Do you think anyone would believe I’m a killer?”  
  
I shake my head fast because I’ve watched him kill.  At least half a dozen bodies have been dismembered on the table just half the length of the room away from me.  And I still can’t believe it.  
  
He smiles then, his face free of any worry.  “I didn’t think so.”  He laughs and stands up.  “Well, I’m off for the night.”  I can hear his footsteps moving away from me and a thin stream  of urine runs down the inside of my thighs in relief.  He whistles a sharp sound to get my attention and now I’m afraid of what might happen if I don’t look up at him.  I raise my eyes to his, where he stands on a steep brick step halfway up the stairs.  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”  And then his face cracks into a smile as he laughs at his own joke, shaking his head as he ascends the stairs and then shuts the door, plunging me back into the darkness.  Back into the silence that’s not really silent because my heart is pounding hard, pushing blood through my veins as if it knows I need the comfort and warmth.  
  
I can hear from the vent above me and to the right as he grabs his keys from possibly a counter top   I can just make out his voice as he says, “Be a good boy.  I’ll be home soon.”  And then his feet stop moving and I can almost feel him behind me.  His voice is little more than a whisper as he sings out, “I’ll see you in the morning, Kris with a K.”  He hums a little and then sings as he straightens from his crouch, “And what would you do if I wrote you a song.  Would you give me some lovin’ when I get home?” His voice trails off as he moves through the house and away from me.  I hold my breath, chest shaking with silent sobs until I hear the door shut. I cry out softly as I realize he’s singing Jack Johnson.  The sick fuck had been whistling that damn song the whole time he’d been moving around down here.  
  
I count a full minute, the wall behind me vibrates and I know the garage door is going up.  Another 30 seconds passes and I can faintly make out the dull roar of the car.  Now he’d be reversing out of the driveway.  Now the vibration of the garage door closing.  Now he’d be at the gate.  He doesn’t need the code because he has that fob on his visor that relays the signal.  Now he’d be past the gate and it would be closing behind him.  Now he’d be on his way to wherever he’s going.  
  
I let out a strangled cry and slump against the wall, chains rattling while my breath heaves in my chest.  
  
The corners of my mouth are chapped where the saliva soaked cloth rubs against the sensitive skin.  My lips are dry and cracked from breathing with my mouth open for too long.  My ankles scrape against the concrete floor as I go limp, hanging by my numb and tired arms.  
  
I wonder why he’s keeping me.  Why am I special?    
  
I just want to die.


	3. The Sweetheart

MY FIRST THOUGHT is that he is a romantic.  The way he holds my hand and leads me to his bedroom. He doesn’t bother with turning on the lights.  He presses a button on the wall and shades dissolve into nothing to reveal floor to ceiling windows taking up the north facing wall. The moon is fat and full and the rays of moonbeams filtering in reach across the room to bathe both of us in its heavenly glow.  
  
His hand is gentle as he brushes a dark brown curl back off my shoulder.  His fingers move to the side of my face, fingertips tracing down my cheek to my jaw, down my neck to the bare curve of my shoulder. His first two fingers hook the thin lace strap of my dress and his eyes snare mine in their intensity as he unwraps me.  
  
His voice is husky and deep, desire wound tight in his throat as he says my name. “Lilith.” My tongue wets my lips and my eyes close to savor the moment, body swaying side to side as I’m caught under his spell.  
  
His lips are on my shoulder, tongue tracing the return route his fingertips had previously coasted down. From the delicate skin where my strap had been, up towards my neck. Up from my neck to the curve of my jaw to my cheek.  
  
He stands still in front of me, body barely touching against mine, and pauses with his lips right there. The soft breath exhaling from his nose, warm and sensuous in my ear. I hear his faint groan as if he is relishing the moment of suspension and my hands resting on the front of his dress shirt tighten on the starched material creating a starburst pattern on the pressed cotton.  
  
His hand moves from my upper arm where the strap of my dress hangs free and travels around my back and up into my hair at the nape of my neck. His fingers spread and then clench, trapping delicate strands of my hair in his fist and I cry out, arousal pebbling my nipples and need coursing between my legs.  My womb contracts, ready to be filled, ready for him.  
  
He uses his grasp and angles my head while his lips travel from my temple down and then across to my mouth. His tongue traces the seam of my parted lips and I gasp and then his other arm curves around my back and picks me up, carrying me the few feet to his bed and laying me down on the cloud of comforter.  His knee parts my legs and he follows me down, maintaining his hold, keeping me pressed tightly to him.  
  
He finally settles his weight on top of me, his erection curving into the dip of my hipbone and his mouth seals to mine.  His tongue caresses mine, his teeth playfully catching my bottom lip, and all the while his moans fuel mine and we swallow each others names.  
  
My hands travel all over him, pushing his suit jacket off and then running over the front of his shirt.  Hurriedly, I’m undoing his buttons and laughing with excitement when he sits up and tears it from himself, little plastic discs popping and flying off in either direction.  
  
I watch, wide eyed and wondrous, as he strips himself of the plain t-shirt underneath and then his chest is bare except for a circular pendant that rests on a thin wire around his neck. My hands stroke through the soft patch of hair between his pecs and he shifts forward, bumping his hardened cock against my mound.   
  
He pulls me up to kneel in front of him and pulls the hidden zipper down the side of my dress and then quickly, as if he needs it now and waiting will only hurt him, lifts my dress over my head and tosses the black silk material behind him towards the foot of the bed.  
  
My words are laced with amusement as I say, “Hey big boy. Careful. That’s Marchesa.”  
  
His hands are busy unclasping my strapless bra and his reply is a drawn out groan as my breasts are divested of their enclosure. His hands cup each, thumbs grazing the soft pink peaks while he murmurs, “I’ll buy you a new one.” Then he dips his head to wrap his lips around my right nipple and draws it into the wet heat of his mouth and I can’t remember what he’s supposed to buy me through the haze that’s settled over me.  
  
His hands drop to my panties and he pushes them down as far as he can in our position. He draws back, his lips releasing a turgid nipple with a loud pop and he eases me back on the bed and follows me down once again.  
  
His tongue laps at the curve of my breast as his hands work deftly at the belt and button and zipper of his slacks.  
  
He is careful to remember a condom, his fingers strong and capable as he tests me and he groans as he says, “You’re so fucking wet.” He pins me with just the tip, the head of his cock teasing my hungry entrance, and asks, “Ready?” At my vigorous nod he pushes forward.  
  
In one smooth thrust he’s settled deep inside me. My body locks up initially and then muscle by muscle relaxes.  My knees raise to cuddle his hips and my hands flatten on his back, pulling his weight down on top of me.  With every movement his chest rubs against my breasts and his nose is pressed into my neck. I can hear him. Chanting my name, “Lilith. Lilith. Lilith.” I shiver under him, riding through the fog that has started to fill my brain.  
  
My throat closes on his name and my thighs shake even though my climax is still far away.  He pulls back far enough to look down at me and he grins. “Hi beautiful.” I want to smile back. I try but my face is paralyzed, contorted into panic. His lips stretch, his tongue poking out from between his teeth in concentration.  
  
My hands have curved into claws, fingers locking in an unnatural position against his back.  My knees part, falling open. His voice is smooth as honey as he says, “That’s my good girl. Just go with it.” I don’t know what is happening but my pussy locks around him, spasming and convulsing but not in pleasure and then he’s coming,  bucking against me, head tilted back and neck straining as he lets fly a string of expletives.  
  
He collapses on top of me, pushing the last few pockets of air from my lungs.  My eyes are trapped open, staring up through the skylight above the bed. I’m wheezing, my lungs not cooperating as I try to inhale much needed oxygen and Josh leans up on his elbows.  
  
But even with the removal of his weight I can’t seem to breathe.  And then he kisses me softly before turning his face and rubbing his whiskered chin along the side of my face.  A shudder racks through me and I am screaming on the inside.  I’m mentally flinging myself against the invisible barrier holding me immobile but it won’t budge.  
  
Tears roll from the corner of my unblinking eyes and Josh sighs as he shifts his hips and slides out of me.  “You probably shouldn’t have had that last drink.”  And then he places his fingers on my eyelids and closes them and I’m plunged into darkness.  
  
I can hear.  I can smell.  I can shallowly breathe as long as I stem the flow of panic racing through me.    
  
He gets up from the bed and I hear him breathing softly, humming under his breath.  My limbs are tight and the muscles are coiled up, my body forming into a fetal position now that he’s not forcing me open with his body.    
  
“We should probably go see K.  I know she likes the live ones.”  He chuckles and the hair on the back of my neck raises in response.  Then his arms wrap around me, one under my knees and the other supporting my back in a newlywed’s pose.  He grunts as he straightens with my dead weight and walks out of his bedroom and down what I suppose is the hallway.  I don’t know where he’s taking me and I don’t know this K person.  What I do know is that I’m likely going to die. Otherwise, why would he have drugged me?    
  
He maneuvers me through doorways and then we’re walking down a set of stairs in his one story house which confuses me, his arms constantly shifting me as if trying to see around me.  I want to shift my weight, maybe make him fall, but my body is still frozen in place and I even out my ragged breathing to control it better.  He whistles sharply and a small voice says, “I’m awake.”  
  
Chains.  I hear chains and for a moment I fear he’s going to use them on me.    
  
Cold metal under me as he lays me down.  The smell of dust and dirt and bleach, I think.    
  
“What should we do with her first?”  
  
I can hear the tired fight in the girls voice as she responds, “You could let her go.  You have me.”  
  
Josh scoffs and says, “Now you know, K.  I’m saving you for last."

Then I hear her suck in a shuddering breath as if holding back sobs and her voice is a plea as she answers his first question. “Make it quick.  Please.  Not like the last one.”  
  
He laughs as metal clanks against metal.  A tray on rolling wheels, maybe, is being pushed toward me, the sound growing closer.  Then he says, “That’s not a bad idea.  Maybe I can make the blondes suffer and the brunettes can have my mercy.”  
  
“Yes. Exactly like that.”  She agrees too quickly and I wonder if she’s a brunette.  I also wonder what happened to the blonde that came before me.  
  
He sighs and says, “Injection or should I just slit her throat?  Her head’s gotta come off anyway.”  He adds that last sentiment as if an afterthought and I realize what’s happening.  He’s the serial killer!  I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner.  It seems to make perfect sense even though it doesn’t.  Not really.  He’s a famous actor.  Why?    
  
The chains rattle again and another revelation hits me that the girl, K, must be trapped down here.  Finally she replies, “Why, Josh?  Why are you doing this to me?  You know my choice.”  
  
There’s a frown evident in his voice as he says, “You always choose injection.  You’re so boring.”  There’s a heavy tension and I wonder if they’re staring each other down over my curled up body.  Josh groans and whines, “Fine!  She can have the damn injection.”  He sounds like a petulant child as he grabs my arm and adds, “Next time you have to play along though.”  
  
Her voice is small again as if smothered by something.  “I will.  I promise.  Just leave the gag off of me, please?”  
  
I hear a plink as if he’s flicked his fingers against a glass vial then a pause fills the room as a phone rings off in the distance.  He swears softly under his breath and then the sting of a needle pierces the tight muscle of my bicep.  “Good night, princess.”  His whispered words reach me a second before his lips touch to mine and then the sound around me goes mute and I can’t smell anything at all.  
  
 **-K-**  
  
Josh walks past me, a quick glare tossed in my direction.  “I have a call to return.  I’m leaving the gag off for now but if I hear one word, one sound, I’ll cut off your fucking tongue and rip out your vocal chords.”  
  
I blink up at him rapidly.  His face softens nominally and then he breathes deeply in derision and rolls his eyes. “Just stay quiet and we’ll see how it goes.”  
  
I nod jerkily, the body on the metal slab spasming with the effect of the drug even though she’s likely already dead.  I hope.    
  
Josh disappears up the stairs and through the door and I clamp my teeth down on my bottom lip as I cry.  I wish I was the one on that cold table.  I wish I was the one jerking to a sudden stillness as my last breath left my body.


	4. The Teacher

I thread my fingers through his hair, the corner of the counter biting into the backs of my thighs as his tongue flicks against my clit.  My head falls back and I moan long and low, his name rising up to the ceiling and evaporating in the air around us as I chant it over and over.    
  
His hands grip my thighs tight as he jerks my hips manually against his face, his tongue dipping between my folds, swirling and then spearing into me.  I palm the back of his head and hold him to me tight as I ride his tongue, his nose pressed tight to my pleasure nub.  “Fuck. Fuck.  Hutch.  Oh God.  Hutch.  I’m gonna-”  
  
I break as his teeth scrape gently against my core and I unravel, screaming as I ride the wave, rocking on his face.  His cheeks hollow out as he creates suction and pulls my essence into him.  I collapse back on the kitchen island, legs shaking and breathing ragged when he delivers one long lick to my pussy before sitting back, hands still holding my legs open, his voice rough as he says, “You taste sweet.  I wonder how the rest of you compares.”    
  
I smile, eyes closed as I reply, “Why don’t you find out?”  
  
His teeth sink into the skin of my inner thigh and I scream, jackknifing up to slap at him.  “Ow, Josh.  What the fuck was that for?”  
  
His grin is a little on the wild side and I swallow as I pull my legs up onto the island underneath me. He stands up slowly and grabs my knees, forcing them open.  He says, “I’m so sorry babe.  I didn’t mean to be so rough.”  But his words don’t match the grinning expression on his face and I shrink back away from him.  He seems to notice my retreat and he frowns, the movement transforming his face almost immediately into one of apology.  My resolve softens as he dips his head forward and rubs his nose to mine.  “I’m sorry, Sasha.  I really am.”    
  
I sigh and lean my head to the side as his lips travel to my neck, his tongue lazily stroking against my flesh.    
  
His voice is rich and deep as he whispers, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink?”  
  
I put a hand to his chest, not to push him away, but to feel him through his thin white shirt.  “Usually I’d say yes.  But if this is going where I think it is, I want to remember every little detail.”  
  
I can feel his lips form a pout against my shoulder and then his hand is behind me, reaching across the counter as he presses his hips to mine and his erection is aligned with right where I want him to be, the worn denim of his jeans a welcome abrasion.  “I really wish you’d have answered differently.”  
  
I place my lips to his chin and nip at the tiny dimple right in the center.  “Why’s that?”  
  
He leans back and I barely catch the flash of reflective stainless steel before the knife plunges into my chest.  The noise that floats from my mouth is a scream that tapers into a moan and my hands flutter from his chest to mine as I stare down at the smooth polished handle sticking out from between my breasts.    
  
I blink rapidly, every breath rattling my chest and shifting the blade, slivers of pain racing down my body and bursting through my nerve endings.  “Wh-Why?”  
  
Josh grabs my hands roughly as they touch the protruding handle .  “Nuh-uh-uh.  You don’t want to touch that.  If you pull it out blood will go everywhere and I’ll have to waste time cleaning up here.”  He looks me straight in the eye and says, “Do you promise not to pull it out, Sasha?”  
  
My mouth opens and closes, my brain malfunctioning, unable to understand how he could ask me something so rational after he just fucking stabbed me.    
  
Little lines appear next to the corners of his lips as he narrows his eyes at me.  “Promise you won’t.”  I shake my head, not sure what he wants me to say because the pain is so unbearable.  The tendrils of hurt slowly consume every part of me.  His voice is thready and filled with anger as the chords in his neck strain while he shouts, “PROMISE ME!”  
  
“I p-promise.”  My voice stutters out the words even though I don’t know what I’m agreeing to at this point.  His sudden smile is sweet and he touches his fingertips to my cheeks, brushing the silent tears away.    
  
“That’s a good girl.”  
  
I watch him walk away and I hurriedly touch my fingers to the knife, wincing when the pressure and pain shift.  I don’t think I could pull it out even if I wanted to.  I know I need to do something though.  I can’t just sit here and wait for him.    
  
I push myself to the edge of the counter and then lower my legs towards the ground, my toes touching the warm tile.  I follow down, hands grasping the edge of the counter, breathing gradually becoming a challenge for me.  
  
With all of my weight resting on the balls of my feet I let go of the counter and start to fall over.  I reach out to catch myself and am stopped mid-air, hovering, arms catching me and dragging me upright.  
  
“Where were you going?”  
  
I let my head fall forward, sobs catching in my chest.  “I don’t know.”  
  
He stares down at me and finally curls his arm across my back, supporting me.  “Let’s get you some help.”  He puts a sheet around my shoulders and with an arm around my waist he picks me up, my toes barely brushing the floor, as he walks me to a door.    
  
He opens it and I expect a garage of some sort.  Instead, it’s dark and there are a set of brick steps leading down into blackness.  I don’t know what it is or what is happening but I know that if I go down there I won’t be coming back up.    
  
I shove myself into his side and turn, leaving the sheet behind me, my hand going to my breastbone where the knife jerks.  His breath huffs as he grabs a handful of my hair and yanks.  I scream in pain, and then I’m flying through the air.  I hit brick, my side scraping, the knife twisting, and I smack my head on the concrete at the bottom.  The pain is so immense I can’t think beyond it.  
  
I see the girl in the corner.  Crouched and shackled.  And then I turn onto my side and vomit, the black dots dancing behind my eyes causing my blindness.  
  
When I come to I just barely make out two separate voices. One is a weak, tired voice. I think it might be the girl. "Injection."  
  
Metal strikes metal. "God dammit, K! We've talked about this! Blondes get torture, brunettes get mercy. Isn't that what you decided last time? Didn't I let you choose for Lilith?"  
  
"I'll always choose injection. If you give me a choice-"  
  
Footsteps stomp to the far side of the room and then I hear a slap.  The air is tense and silent and then I hear a hiccup of a sob and Josh's voice as he cries. "I'm so sorry, K. I'm so sorry-"  
  
A sigh and a hum. "Shhh. Shhh. It's okay. I'm okay." She reassures him as if this has happened before. Her words are meant to comfort but there is no emotion behind her platitudes. Her voice is flat. Robotic.  
  
Josh  doesn't seem to notice. His voice is muffled as he thanks her for her forgiveness.  I hear his steps come near again and then the scrape of metal on metal once more. "Alright, K." He sniffles and breathes a few times as if he's pulling himself together. Finally he speaks, but his words take time to sink in. "I think today will be your first lesson in how to skin a person."  
  
I feel his arms come around me, lifting and carrying, laying me on something cold that makes me flinch away.  His hands are gentle as he straps first one arm down and then the other.  I’m on a metal table of some sort with soft bindings holding me in place.  I stare up at him as he works, the tip of his tongue peeking out from behind his teeth.  When he’s satisfied with my restraints he stands back, hands on his hips, and looks down at me.  His nose crinkles adorably and his lips twitch in a semi smile.  “You know what’s kind of funny?”  
  
His eyes shine with an inner light, his smile contagious, so I smile back and whisper, “No.  What?”  
  
He leans down, placing a hand on either side of my head, bringing his face close to mine.  “I wanted to torture you but I lost my head and stabbed you.”  He chuckles.  “Sometimes I’m a little impulsive.  Oops.”  
  
I nod, his words mesmerizing as I stare up into his dark woodsy eyes specked with flakes of 24 karat gold and deep green moss.  The freckles across the bridge of his nose charming.  The lashes fanning against his cheek impossibly long.      
  
“Well, Sasha.  When I pull out the knife you’re going to bleed out.”  
  
I close my eyes, thanking God that it will be over soon.    
  
“But first I want to introduce you to a friend of mine.”  He walks away, my eyes opening in time to see his back as he retreats to the corner.    
  
Chains rattle and I hear the same voice from earlier say, “What are you doing?”  
  
“I told you.  I’m going to teach you how to skin a person.”  
  
“I don’t want to.”  
  
His voice is stern suddenly.  “Do you honestly think I’m giving you the choice?”  Then footsteps as he walks back to my side, giving the chains he holds in his hands a hard yank forward.  The girl beside him trips and crashes to the ground, body shaking and tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.  He threads the chains through a hole in the side of the table and locks them in place.  “K, I need you to stand up and introduce yourself.”  
  
I blink slowly, my head turned at an angle away from Josh as I take in the girl down near my feet.  Everything is in slow motion as if my heart has started to give up and I smile as I welcome the numbness that spreads through my body, blanketing the pain.  Josh flicks the handle of the knife with his thumb and forefinger.    
  
The splintering pain rushes forward and my body is jolted back into feeling as I scream.  The girl, who upon closer inspection is a woman probably a few years older than me, is wearing nothing but a once white tee that hangs off one shoulder, an exact copy of the one Josh is wearing right now.  Her hair is a stringy mess and her face is light brown with a fine cover of dirt.  She puts a hand on my ankle and says, “Shh.  It’s okay.  It’s okay.”  
  
Josh says, “Fuck it.”  And then he wraps his hand around the handle of the knife and yanks upward.  The pain that encompasses me is everywhere and I don’t even feel it slide out.  My body goes really cold really fast and then I gasp as the breath leaves my body.  Finally, I’m free.  
  
 **-K-**  
  
I lean over the edge of the table and vomit the water Josh had brought me to drink that morning.  The fountain of blood spurting up from the center of her chest is a reverse waterfall that gushes outward and then settles to a trickle.    
  
Josh twirls the kitchen knife as he waits for the flow of blood to come to an end.  When it finally does he stares at me, waiting for me to straighten from my crouch to pay attention.  I look up at him, pleading.  His response is a roll of the eyes.  “K.  I’m trying to teach you an important lesson here.”  
  
My shoulders shake with silent sobs as I sniffle and nod, “O-okay.”  
  
His teeth are bright white down here in the dark, the contrast one of beauty and horror.  He places the tip of the blade between her collarbones and makes a tiny nick.  “Are you ready?”  
  
I say yes.  What choice do I have?  
  
  
  



	5. Bonus : 1

There are a lot of misconceptions about serial killers, if that's what I am. I like to think of myself as simply a person who enjoys the quiet company of others. I happen to adore women and I've never hurt in the romance department. I've never had to do the chasing and I admit it starts to dull the senses when you're regularly propositioned for sex. And possibly more. Relationships, however, have never been my strong suit. So I regularly accept the advances, but the "possibly more" doesn't interest me. I know where my strengths and weaknesses lie and I choose to not face them. Sex, yes. Love, no.

And if someone happens to lose their head in the meantime, even better.

I’d like to start off by saying I've never tortured or killed an animal in cold blood. My childhood wasn't filled with neighbors cats going missing or playing with roadkill. I grew up running barefoot through the woods of Hicksville, Kentucky so yes, I’ve hunted. I know how to dress a deer. I know how to skin a rabbit.

I've also never struck another person in anger unless my intent was to eventually kill them.

I grew up rough housing with my dad, my brother, cousins, uncles, etc. I never once raised a hand to any of them unless it was playfully.

However.

Everyone has a first. A first time to explore the unexplored. 

My first was Elizabeth. 

I was flying in to Indiana from California for a friend’s wedding. I met her at the rental car kiosk and she was single. I was single. My fame wasn’t so much that she recognized me initially. Pre-Hunger Games I got away with a lot more. She knew enough about me to trust me. And sometimes that’s all it takes.

I was young then. And I lied about my age. I wasn’t renting a car, just happened to be standing near the service desk while waiting for the shuttle to come around to the double doors leading to the long line of waiting cars, when she asked me if I needed help. 

I had turned and locked eyes with her and my reaction was immediate. I wanted her.

So I had her.

The first person I killed I did strike. Hard. I initially thought when I hit her and her head snapped back that she was dead. I was naive then. Not so much anymore.

I had just parted her creamy thighs and slid deep inside her when she raked her nails down the front of my chest. It felt incredible and I asked her to do it again. 

When she did, harder than the last, I thought about how much she was hurting me and how good it felt and how much I wanted to do the same to her.

My hips pumped into her, over and over and over, and when her legs started to shake and her voice was ripe with emotion as she pleadingly shouted my name, I hit her with the back of my hand and silenced her.

Her body clamped down tight, trapping my cock to the hilt, and then I shuddered as I came, her lifeless body limp like a ragdoll.

I stuffed her in the trunk of her car and went to the wedding.

Later that night I drove her to a side street right off of 66 and opened the trunk to remove her. She stared up at me, shock in her eyes as her lips moved in silent words. 

That was the last time I left a head attached to a body.

I flew out the next day but not before dumping her in the Ohio River.

As far as I know she’s still at the bottom somewhere. Just another piece of trash.


	6. The Victim

My body strains towards him as his fingers skillfully play through my folds.  My hands clasp tight to the headboard above me, my fingers running across grooves in otherwise smooth oak wood.  I don't think about how when I flex my fingers, nails trying to find purchase as his hips come into contact with mine, that the gouges in the underside of the headboard are perfectly shaped.  
  
It never once crosses my mind that anyone else has done exactly what I am doing.  
  
His thumb presses to my swollen clit and I come, screaming and shaking.  
  
I don't see him put on the condom.  I only feel him slide in deep until his hipbones press to the soft flesh of my inner thighs.  
  
He looks at me then, lust darkening his irises as he says, "You're perfect, Sheryl."  
  
My eyes stare up into his, the sincerity of his words washing over me.  His lips descend to mine and I sigh into his mouth.  I sigh his name.  Sexy and sweet.  And then I whisper, fueled by the sweet deep rhythm of his thrusts, "I want to feel you from behind."  
  
He blinks at me as if unsure that vixen's voice is mine.  And then he stills and smiles.  "Anything for you."  
  
I shiver as the lusty look in his hazel eyes is replaced by a deviant's glint.  
  
He slowly, carefully, pulls out.  (That's when I notice the condom) and his hand brushes down my body, a full contact caress that has me arching up, back bowed in delight.  
  
His hand lands on my thigh and gives it a light smack.  "Hands and knees.  And show me your sweet little ass."  
  
I giggle uncharacteristically, his hands on my hips directing me where to go.  I settle my hands on the downy pillow and spread my legs, Josh moving into position behind me.  
  
"God damn.  Just looking at your ass is going to make me come."  
  
I grin over my shoulder and wiggle it a little.  Josh groans, one hand on my hips, the other on his shaft as he lines himself up behind me.  
  
He pushes in, the change of the angle sublime, and when his hand lands on my rear with a sharp slap I shove back against him and moan, "Harder."  
  
His palms strike both cheeks at the same time; his hold on the soft round globes of my ass to massage his dick.  
  
His breath picks up and his voice is little more than a growl when he grabs my shoulders and pulls me back and up.  "Come here."  
  
I sit up with my back resting against his flexing hips, my hips lifting me, gliding me along his thick swollen shaft.  
  
His strong arms wrap around me, banding my torso tight to his as his hips piston.  His voice in my ear is guttural as he speaks, "I want you to come all over my cock, baby.  Can you do that for me?"  His tongue traces the shell of my ear and I shudder as his warm breath puffs against my lobe.  
  
My hands are behind me, grabbing his ass as he flexes and retreats, pushes and pulls.  Over and over.  My grip urges him faster, harder.  His voice is hoarse and I can tell his teeth and jaw are clenched tight as he says, "Oh fuck.  Sheryl.  I'm gonna come.  Your sweet little pussy."  
  
And I explode around him, yelling his name to the glass walls surrounding us in his bedroom.  
  
Josh is grunting now, his arms moving away and his hands raising to my neck.  
  
His breathing is rapid and I'm quaking around him as he puts one hand on my chin, the other wrapping in a tight loop of hair at the back of my head.    
  
I turn my face to the side in post orgasmic haze, thinking he wants a kiss.  But my eyes open slowly to his and the sneer that contorts his face makes my spine go rigid.  
  
He smiles, all teeth, and says, "You were a fantastic fuck.  Thank you."  
  
I open my mouth, unsure of what to say, and as his eyes lock mine in place he comes, lips pulled back in a snarl.  
  
He crushes his lips to mine, teeth gnashing and tongue probing and then he's gone and I catch a wink before he uses his hold on my hair and his other on the curve of my chin to pull in opposite directions.  
  
I'm aware that my head is turning way too fast and that I'm unable to stop it and then I feel a pop and then nothing.  
  
-K-  
  
My eyes are closed, sleep just there on the cusp.  The door opens and I suck in air, all semblance of resting gone.  My body comes alive instantly, a million tiny electric currents shooting to my nerve endings.   
  
Josh says something, probably speaking to Driver, as he descends the stairs.  
  
The dog obediently stays at the top, backlit by the bright rectangular light of the open door.  
  
His master carefully takes each step at a time.  
  
His eyes flick to me and he grins.  "Wouldn't it suck if I were coming down here, totally careless, and fell and broke my neck?"  He laughs as he jostles the woman wrapped in the sheet.  He treats her like a parcel, dumping her none too carefully on the embalming table on the other side of the room.  He stares over at me as he leans on the edge of the metal mote running the length of the mortician's slab.  "If I died," his voice is clear and absolute and my eyes meet his, tired and confused, "You'd never get out of here."  
  
I think very quickly that that's probably a lie.  Josh is an important person and I’m positive someone would miss him after a day or so of his absence.  Not me.  But someone.  
  
Instead, I just nod as if agreeing with him and he narrows his eyes at me, unfooled and thoughtful.  
  
After a minute of him studying me he shrugs.  He pushes off from the table and moves past me toward the steps.  
  
“I love all of them.”  
  
My head jerks towards him with that statement and I watch him disappear up the stairs, his confession invading my head.  
  
I believe he believes that.  
  
I also believe he doesn’t know how to love.  I think of his faithful dog and all the people I’ve heard coming and going from this house.  
  
The laughter I’ve heard from above, the nights when karaoke is sung by rowdy partners and footsteps are heavier than most.  
  
Maybe he does know how to love.  Who am I to judge?  
  
I briefly look at the ragdoll body covered with the sheet.  He didn’t prep her.  That means she’s already dead.  Probably a brunette.  
  
I close my eyes and rest my forehead against my thin bicep as a makeshift pillow, chains scraping and pulling.  Tomorrow is going to be a long day.  Tomorrow he’ll do to her what he’s done to countless others and just go for the bonesaw.  
  
That thought does nothing to me.  Not anymore.  And the body under the sheet means nothing either.  
  
She’s just another victim.  
  


 


	7. The Master

HIS FINGERS DIG into the back of my neck as he follows down the stairs behind me.  My shoulders hunch upwards, trying to alleviate the pressure that his heavy hand forces upon me.  My right eye is swollen and I misjudge the next steps, heel slipping against brick, skin scraping and I yelp.  We’re close to the bottom now and he shoves me, angry, as he roars, “You want to know what happened to Danielle?  Welcome to hell, bitch!”  And I land on my knees after missing the last few steps.  I turn my head, sobs caught in my throat and my eyes fall on a girl staring at me blankly from her post against the wall, before his fist lands against my temple and blackness swallows me whole.  
  
 _It has been a week and a half since Danielle has gone missing.  Ten days since she had gone to a charity dinner and texted me a simple sentence, “Don’t wait up for me.”_  
  
 _24 hours passes, then 48.  The weekend ends and I find out she didn’t go to work.  72 hours comes quickly and finally I am able to file a missing persons report._  
  
 _Nothing.  Had she followed the directions of the LAPD and stayed inside after dark?  No, officer.  Was she the type of woman to go home with a stranger?  No, officer.  We’ll be in contact.  That’s what they all said.  Over and over that was the bullshit line I was force fed._  
  
 _I know they are busy tracking down a serial killer.  I am afraid that they don’t have enough men working the streets on other cases.  I decide to do a little digging for myself._  
  
My eyes open to the cavern surrounding me.  My arm is twisted up and back at a 45 degree angle and I whimper around the material stretched tight between my lips.  My knees support my weight on the concrete floor and a feminine whisper beside me has me searching the pitch black air around me for its source.  
  
“Don’t move.  If you move it only makes the pain worse.”  
  
I quit moving and listen for anything else but the beating of my heart drowns out even the rough heaving of my breath as it saws in and out of my lungs.  
  
 _“I’m Kristi.”  His hand envelops mine and his smile is genuine as he greets me with a firm handshake._  
  
 _“It’s nice to meet you, Kristi.  My name is Josh.”_  
  
 _I laugh because I already know that and he introduces himself like it’s possible I don’t.  I can’t help the smile that remains on my softly shaded lips as I give his hand a squeeze before letting go.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Josh.”_  
  
 _His face transforms from one of genuine enjoyment to one of confusion as he makes it clear that he overheard my earlier conversation with the security detail at this charity function.  A charity function hosted by the same company that sponsored the one Danielle never came home from.  “Did you say you’re looking for a friend?”_  
  
 _I swallow and will my heart rate to slow down.  Knowing he might know something that could potentially help raises my emotions.  “Yes.  She was at the dinner for Wide Steps roughly a week and a half ago and I’m hoping someone from here might remember her or maybe saw who she went home with.”_  
  
 _His eyes narrow in thought and his palm is warm as he places a comforting hand on my shoulder.  “Roughly my height with brown hair a little longer than her shoulders?  Black Marchesa dress?”_  
  
 _I cover my mouth with a hand and let him lead me to an inconspicuous corner.  “Yes.  Oh my god.  You saw her!  Did you see who she might have left with?  She texted me but she didn’t include a name.”_  
  
 _The urgency in my voice strikes a chord within him and he takes my hand in his and pulls me with him towards the exit and the valet.  “I do.  She left with a friend of mine but I don’t have his number on me.”  He hands a small square fob and a folded bill to the valet and he rubs his hands up and down my arms, trying to bring warmth to the blood running cold in my veins.  “I have his contact information back at my house.  Would you like to come with me?”  There’s a moment of suspicion, indecisiveness trickling into my body language as I start to pull away.  He takes the hint and drops his hands.  “Okay, I totally get where you’re coming from.  You can stay here and I’ll go grab it and bring it back.  Just- stay right here, okay?”_  
  
 _He turns away as he raises his hand to signal the driver in his car and I shake myself out of my thoughts.  “No.”  My voice is quiet and I clear my throat and say again, “No.  I’m fine.  I’ll come with you.”_  
  
 _His eyes soften as he stares deep into mine.  “Are you sure?  I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or anything.”  I nod quickly and he opens the passenger door for me.  I settle into my seat and pull the belt securely around me, taking in the rich leather and custom options as he rounds the hood and trades places with the valet._  
  
 _It doesn’t even strike me as off when he pulls into traffic and asks, “Kristi is a nice name.  Is that with a K?”_     
  
I float in and out of consciousness and I have no reference for how long I’ve been out but when I come to he’s standing across the room, one arm crossed against his chest as he stares down at the floor.  His voice is soft, almost soothing as he speaks. “I know, babe.  I miss you too.”  He chuckles and his words deepens with desire, “Oh, really?”  
  
He strides across the room to my left and I track him with my eyes.  He stops in front of the girl hanging much like myself just a few feet away.  He steps out of my peripheral and I can’t see him without turning my head and I’m not willing to draw any attention to myself.  I steady my breathing and try to concentrate on his words.    
  
“How are the rents?”    
“Oh, sure, I can do that.”    
“Driver is doing great, babe.  He misses you just as much as I do.”    
“Yes, I can hear them.  Tell them I love them too.”   
“I love you, sweet thing.  I can’t wait for you to get home.  Okay, bye.  No, you hang up first.”    
  
His laughter is rich and it echoes through the cellar.  Once more he says, “Okay, love.  Goodbye.”  Silence descends and I try to think.  Have I heard anything about a girlfriend?  Like any other woman my age I browse the trashy tabloids in line at the supermarket but I can’t think of who he might be dating right now.  
  
I hear the faint noise of the girl beside me.  Her voice is quiet and unamused when she says, “I’m fine.”  
  
His voice is too low for me to understand and my leg twitches involuntarily, signaling my awake state.  
  
“Well, look who decided to join us.”  His feet appear in my line of vision and his hand lands roughly on the top of my head.  He grabs a handful of hair and tilts my head back to look into my face.  My eyes touch on his, the deep green hidden in the shadow of his fallen brow, but I know the color of his eyes.  I know because a few months back I watched him perform his last act in the second Mockingjay as Peeta.  My eyes stay on his but the scratch running down the side of his face from the corner of his eye to the curve of his jaw pulls my attention and I can’t help the satisfactory curl of my lips as I remember going for his eye with my car key.  
  
 _He opens the door for me and stands aside, allowing me entrance to his home.  We’ve come through the front door so when he walks in after me and passes me on his way to the kitchen I think nothing of it._  
  
 _I can hear a dog somewhere in the background and then Josh says from a room away, “Give me just a sec and I’ll get that number for you.”_  
  
 _I watch him disappear into a bedroom and hear him talking to someone, likely the dog I somewhat remember hearing he rescued years ago, and I lean my elbows on the counter beside a set of bar stools._  
  
 _The house is perfectly quiet except for the low level of chatter coming from the back and my fingernails are the only noise as I drum them against the hightop granite._  
  
 _“Help.”_  
  
 _I pause my movement and wait._  
  
 _“Help.”_  
  
 _The sound is muffled, the voice is nearly silent, but I can hear it._  
  
 _“Help.”_  
  
 _It doesn’t get any louder but it sounds like it’s coming from under me and my eyes dart around the room before lighting on the vent near the floor.  I step softly to the wall and crouch down._  
  
 _“Hello?”_  
  
 _There’s no answer and I wait, still and silent, until I’m sure there won’t be.  I speak again, pitching my voice a little higher this time._  
  
 _“Hello?”_  
  
 _The door at the end of the hall opens at the same time the voice below me whispers, “Run.”_  
  
 _My heart leaps to my throat and I come out of the crouch to Josh’s quizzical stare.  “Are you okay?”_  
  
 _I nod quickly and brush my hands down the front of my dress slacks.  “Yeah.  Yes.  Sorry.”  I laugh and roll my eyes at myself, “I guess I’m just jumpy.”_  
  
 _He stops beside me and looks down at the floor.  At the vent.  “Did you drop something?”_  
  
 _I wave my hand aside as I back away to the counter when I set my purse down.  “Oh, no.  I just thought I heard a sound.  I think it was the vent kicking on though.”  His eyes turn up to mine and I know in that split second that I should have listened to the whispered words of a stranger.  I should have run._  
  
 _I try to do that now and I grab my keys from the opening in my bag.  His hand grabs my arm and spins me around to face him and I’ve just gotten my_ _house key_ _between my knuckles when I jab at his face.  He turns at the last second and I rake the rivets down his cheek instead of stabbing into his eye.  His reaction is immediate and the back of his hand lands a hard blow across my cheek, whipping my head to the side._  
  
He smiles as if he’s reliving that moment along with me, invading my memories, before he speaks.  “You wanted to know what happened to Danielle.”  His hand turns my head away from him to look over at the metal work table set up on the other side of the room.  “That’s where I chopped her up into little pieces.”  Bile rises quickly and I swallow over and over to keep it down.  Tears gather in my eyes and I let them roll freely down my cheeks.  
  
His voice is a boom as he suddenly yells out, “And guess what, Kristi!  You’re in luck!”  Using his hold on my hair he yanks my head to the side, turning me to face the other way.  I’m looking straight into the eyes of the woman, not a girl, chained up exactly like me just feet away.  “K got you into this mess.”  I focus my one good eye on her, the other having swelled shut completely, when Josh laughs.    
  
He lets go of me and I drop down to my knees, not realizing until that moment that he had pulled me up into a crouch by my hair.    
  
His voice is eerie as he walks away from us towards the stairs.  “K got you down here.  I consider her a project of mine, I suppose.”  He stops at the last step and tosses something to land between us.  My eye follows the movement and the gold of the key ring flashes brightly for just a second in the overhead lamp before a switch is flipped and we’re plunged back into the dark.  His words carry farther away now as if he’s moving up the stairs as he calls back down to us, “It’s up to you two to decide who lives.  I’ll be back tomorrow morning.  By then I expect one less live body down here.”  There’s a low chuckle and then a rectangle of light shines down on us as well as his silhouette.  “After all, I can only keep one of you.”  
  
And then the door closes and I wait in silence for the woman beside me to make a move for the keys.    
  
-K-  
  
I wait in silence for the woman beside me to make a move for the keys.  
  
I want her to.  
  
This is my one chance to finally die.


	8. The Psycho Part 1

-K-  
  
Josh stands between us in nothing more than a pair of boxers.  He’s holding a bowl, steam rising from the thick broth, and he chews slowly as he looks me over and then the strawberry blonde beside me.  Kristi is her name.  We spoke briefly last night.    
  
At one point I had looked into her eyes and told her, “I’m not going to kill you."  
  
Tears tracked down her face but she hadn't cried. Instead she’d responded with, "Why is he doing this?"  
  
I hadn't had an answer for her.  
  
Now he moves forward until he's right in front of me and he crouches down, chewing thoughtfully as he studies me. He glances down at his meal and scoops a bite onto the spoon before holding it out to me. When I eye it dubiously he sighs, "Just take the damn bite, will you?"  
  
He feeds me. Usually sandwiches or plastic cups of broth. Things that are easy for me to hold. Usually just enough to keep my strength up. I have stopped being careful. I have stopped wondering if this meal will be my last. Usually I eat with no reservations because if it is poisoned I welcome the thought.  
  
I also know, however, that he doesn't plan on killing me any time soon. He makes that quite clear.  
  
The bite of meat is tender and the spices in the stew are perfect and I savor the explosion of taste on my tongue, chewing thoroughly before swallowing. A second spoonful is offered and I take it without hesitation. Halfway through I glance up and catch his smile and I pause midchew. He grins as he says, "No, no. Keep chewing. We wouldn't want any of Sheryl to go to waste."  
  
I watch him carefully for a glint in his eye to hint that he's joking but he licks his lips and helps himself to another spoonful, making a production of chewing along with appreciative humming noises before swallowing. "Mmm. Better than Campbell's. Am I right?"  
  
My stomach turns over and I force the bite down.  I try to push it to the very back of my mind what is digesting inside of me but it is fuel.  It is sustenance.  Kristi had given me an idea last night.    
  
“How many has he killed?”  
  
I close my eyes and lean my head on the wall.  “I’ve lost count.”  
  
“But he hasn’t killed you?”  
  
I shake my head.  “No.  I don’t know why.  He doesn’t say.”  That’s a lie.  He has said before but it’s too horrible to think.  Too horrific to fathom and so I push it down.  Reasonings of a madman as far as I’m concerned.  
  
“You could save us, you know."  
  
I shoot her a quizzical look, silently asking her how.  
  
She warms up to the topic, becoming animated, and her short pixie like haircut makes her look almost adolescent in that moment.  “Not now.  I mean, I know I’m going to die.  When he comes down in the morning he’ll kill me.  He’s obviously keeping you for a reason.  I just mean that if you could get away and get help it wouldn’t all be for nothing.”  
  
I turn away from her words, knowing she’s right.  Knowing that if I have anything at all to live for it is that.  I shut my eyes and keep them shut, and while neither of us really sleeps we’re quiet for the rest of the night.  
  
Josh tips the bowl up and gulps down the rest of the broth before walking back over to the stairs and setting the bowl with the spoon resting inside of it down.  I watch carefully, already looking for a way out.  We’re too far away from his tray of utensils and the only weapon I have is myself which is laughable with how much weight I’ve lost.  My nails would be my best bet but with my poor diet they’ve become brittle and they break far too easily.  I wait in suspense as he comes back to us.  He stoops down between us and scoops the keys to the iron cuffs into his hand.  “I see neither of you took me seriously last night.”  
  
Kristi stares at him in silence.  Defiant.  She won’t give him the pleasure of hearing her beg.  I really like her and I wonder if we’d be friends under different circumstances.  
  
Josh releases her right wrist first and I blink down at my cuffs.  Maybe he’s planning on killing me after all.  He takes the free handcuff and holds it in his fist as he positions Kristi in front of him, squatting.  I look up at him, confused.  “What are you doing?”  
  
He rolls his eyes and I can tell he’s aggravated that I’m even asking questions.  “I’m doing what you couldn’t do.”  
  
He grabs Kristi next by her upper arm and drags her up.  She makes sounds of protest but more from the pain of standing up after uncomfortable hours of hanging than wanting to be released.  She’s resigned to die.  Not because she’s weak but because she’s incredibly strong and she believes she’s dying for a reason.  My eyes water as I watch him, unable to do much more but stand there, stooped over, trying to straighten into a stand with my unused muscles screaming out at me.  
  
He folds her arms up behind her back and holds her in front of him like a human shield.  “Kill her, K.”  
  
I shake my head no.  His mistake was thinking he had shocked the humanity out of me.  I felt for Kristi.  She is me.  A long time ago, but she is still me.  
  
“K.”  Josh tsks with his tongue.  “You don’t want to kill her but you don’t want to die.  So why don’t we let Kristi persuade you to put her out of her misery.”  
  
I hear a snap followed shortly by her scream and her pale face turns red quickly as she writhes in pain.    
  
Josh giggles and then sobers instantly as he apologizes, “Sorry.  Didn’t mean to laugh.”  
  
I look from him to her, my hands balled into fists at my sides.  Her breathing is accelerated but she whispers in broken words, “Just do it.”  
  
I shake my head, sobs choking me from the inside out.  “I-I can’t.”  
  
Josh shrugs and then another snap followed by another followed by another and Kristi screams and throws up from the pain.  I realize he’s breaking her fingers and I press my palm to my stomach, trying to keep the little pieces of food I’ve had down.  She looks drunk as her head lolls side to side while Josh shakes her like a ragdoll.  “Just the thumb left on her right hand and then I’ll have to start on her left.”  He grins at me from behind her.  “She might pass out from the pain, you know.  What am I saying?  Of course you know.  You’ve watched me do this a million times now."  
  
And then I hear the sickening twist, pop and crunch followed by her dry heaving between gasps of breath.   
  
I’m crying now. Uncontrollably. I was never a mom but I had always wanted to be one and the protective instinct that surges through me now screams at him to stop. "STOP!"  
  
He narrows his eyes, waiting.  
  
I look into her eyes and I can see the acceptance. She's been ready to die since she got down here and I'm the one keeping her from that peace she's already made with herself.  I nod and watch her sag forward in relief. Josh flashes me a knowing look and then drags her to the table in the corner, never once giving me his back.  
  
He's a psycho but he's incredibly intuitive and intelligent and sometimes that scares me more than his ability to torture.  
  
He straps her down and she bites her lip to stifle the scream that builds inside her when he tightens the restraints around her right hand.  
  
After securing her he walks back over to me and I can tell he's aroused. I have a brief flashback of straddling his hips as his nimble fingers rolled the tight bud of my nipple back and forth but it quickly passes when his soft laughter reaches me.  
  
He unchains me but leaves the cuff around my left wrist. He pulls me forward by the shackle and I stumble along behind him on legs unused to moving. With a final yank he directs me to the tray of utensils to the left of Kristi's head. Her eyes are closed and her lips move quickly and quietly as if in prayer and I mentally say a few words on her behalf. I don't bother asking for forgiveness or anything as ridiculous as that. I know when my time comes I will be welcomed into hell. But it's a soothing thought that hell can't be any worse than where I am now.  
  
Josh cuffs me to the hole in the corner of the metal table that clinks anytime I shift. Then he steps far enough back that I won't be able to go after him, just out of arms reach.   
  
Josh begins to instruct me. "I want you to bleed her. Pick up the metal cylinder next to the scalpel and tap the vein on her arm."  
  
I pick up the sharp knife on the end instead and with a cry of fury I raise it above my head and bring it down in one swift move, throwing all of my weight into it.  The tip of the knife slides into her breast and straight down into her heart.  The handle sticks out of her and instead of pulling it out I leave my hand clenched around the leather wrapped hilt.   
  
I don't have to look at her face to know she's dead. I do anyways because it's a punishment I deserve. Besides the dirt and tear tracks on her cheeks, she looks like she's simply sleeping.  She looks entirely peaceful and I wish I could be her in that moment.  
  
I think about reaching for the other knife on the work tray and offing myself then but I also remember the conversation we had so I don't. If there's even a slim chance I can get out and get help she won't have died for nothing.  
  
I'm lost in my own heavy breathing and my deep, dark thoughts and I don't hear him advance.  He wraps his arms around me from behind and stares over my shoulder at her.  
  
"Well that wasn't quite what I had in mind." He kisses my cheek and gives me a quick squeeze before he steps back from me and reaches around to pull the knife out of her. I close my eyes tight as her body fights with him.  Finally, he works the blade free and he tosses it onto the tray before pushing the wheeled cart across the room and far away from me. His footsteps and his voice retreat and I want to look back at him but I can't take my eyes from her face, knowing I did that. I killed a person.   
  
Josh is far away now, at the stairs at least, when he says, "I'm going out. I think for tonight you can stay right where you are and think about what you just did."  His feet scuff up the stairs and I close my eyes against the warning edge in his voice. "This is the only time you'll disobey me. Understand?"  
  
I nod slowly and listen to his approving grunt of noise before the door opens and shuts on a slam.  
  
  
  



	9. The Psycho Part 2

I use the back of my hand to push my dark bangs off my forehead as I collect glasses from the high tables along the outer area of the bar.  I recently moved to L.A. with my best friend and cost of living is keeping us busy with part time jobs to make ends meet.  I set down my rag and in wide circular motions I clean the scarred wood top free of wet rings left behind by sweaty glasses.  I sigh and move away to repeat the cleaning process on the next table over.  
  
A man is watching me from under a Cincinnati Reds cap and I feel my cheeks flush under his scrutiny.  I make sure my tables are clear and then I set down the deep plastic basin that hold the half empty glasses on a nearby booth seat before slipping the pad of paper from the back pocket of my dark wash skinny jeans and a pen from the same pocket.  I flip to a clean page, place the number of the booth at the top of the page and click my pen as I ask, “What can I get for you, Sir?”    
  
The fingers of his right hand tap on the thigh of his jeans and his other hand plays with the pages of the menu.  “What’s your name?”  
  
I lean my shoulder forward revealing my name tag even as I reply, "Meg."  
  
He nods and smiles and I have to lock my knees in place to keep myself upright. Recognition slaps me hard and I know exactly who he is and I'm not ashamed to say I have lusted after him.   
  
He places his order and I turn it into the cook. I'm bouncing on the balls of my feet, excited and glancing at the time for my next break so I can call Cricket and tell her he's here. Josh Hutcherson is sitting in my section. Close enough to smell or touch. I'm fanning myself as I wait for the order to be up. So when I turn around and walk back around the partition to his table and he's not there, I falter but keep moving forward.  
  
He's absent, but there's a note on the table along with a large enough bill to cover his meal and all of my tips for the night.  I unfold the paper and in a slanted scrawl it reads  
  
I want you. I'm outside. Come home with me. -Josh  
  
I only have an hour left of my shift. But this is Josh Hutcherson and it's highly unlikely he's going to wait an hour just for me.  
  
My coworker, Cassie, startles me with a hand to my shoulder. "You okay, Meg? You look a little flushed."  
  
My face is probably burning a bright red and I use it as an out. I sling off my apron and hand it to her, my tip money already in my pocket. "I'm sorry Cass, but I'm really not feeling well. I have to-" I wave my hand towards the employee break room and then take off in that direction. I grab my purse from my locker and shove down any second thoughts I have about ditching work early which I've never done before.  
  
I think about what's waiting for me in the parking lot and with a stifled laugh I push through the exit into the warm night air.  
  
He's standing right there beside his car, a shiny new model of something expensive.  He opens the passenger door for me and I suck in air as I convince myself that this is really happening.  
  
He holds out a hand for me and I move forward, sealing my fate.  Readying myself for the night of my life.  
  
I remember halfway to his place that I should let Cricket know where I am so she doesn't worry when I don't get off the last bus.  
  
I reach for my phone in my bag and Josh eyes me dubiously, slowing the car. I can read the look on his face and he appears worried that I'm going to send out a mass text about my plans for the night so I don't bother and I hope Cricket understands. I'll make it up to her tomorrow when I tell her all the details.  
  
His voice is low and smooth as he asks me how long I’ve been in L.A. and we talk about my aspirations and where I came from and how I got here.  He tells me a little about a celebrity function coming up, hinting that he might need a date.  That triggers something in my memory and I ask, “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”  
  
He shrugs with one shoulder, “Not exactly.  We don’t use labels.”  
  
I turn my face to stare out the window, suddenly uncomfortable with what I’m doing.  If he does have a girlfriend and he takes me home with him and we do what I think we’re going to do, it will be cheating.  He will be cheating.  And I don’t want that on my conscience.  
  
As if I’m projecting my thoughts right at him, he puts a hand on my knee.  “It’s okay, Meg.  We’re free to see other people.  I promise.  I’m not a cheater.  I would never do that to someone.”  
  
I look over at him and he glances away from the road to reiterate what he claims with his eyes.  The sincerity that flashes in the depths of the warm color calms me.  “So why don’t you have a date for the awards show?  Where’s your not-girlfriend?”  
His lip turn up at the corner in a half smile and he pats my thigh before he places his hand back on the gear shift.  “She’s out of the country visiting family.  She’ll be home in a few weeks but for now I’m on my own.”  He pulls up to a gated drive and I realize this is it.  I press my legs together to ease the overwhelming ache that gnaws at me and I take a moment to think about this rationally.  Do I want to spend a night with him?  
  
My eyes roam over his face to his stubbled jaw line.  Yes.  Yes, I do.  
  
He slows and the gate closes behind us and then he pulls into the attached garage.  I take this as a good sign that I won’t be leaving anytime soon, morning at the earliest.    
  
He opens my door for me and then taking my hand he leads me into his house.  He stops for a moment in the kitchen as if he’s listening for something and then he shakes his head, grinning.  “Sorry, thought I heard a noise.”  
  
I pause, frowning as I tilt my head.  There is a noise but it’s so faint I can barely make it out.  Then a dog comes barreling down the hall and Josh lets go of me long enough to crouch and catch the beast in a hug as he runs his hands over the short gray fur.    
  
“I have to let Driver out.  Make yourself comfortable.”  
  
I lean against the counter and watch as he leads the dog to double glass doors that open out to a lush backyard. I reach into my purse for my phone, taking the time to send Cricket a text that simply says, ‘I met a guy. You’ll never believe. Deets in the a.m.’  
  
I don’t wait for a response.  I turn off my phone and toss it into my purse instead.  Josh walks back in and says, “Where were we?”  
  
I swallow nervously as his hands frame my face and he presses his lips to mine.  I exhale on a shuddering breath and he takes advantage of it and slides his tongue between my parted lips in a playful sweep.  I moan and raise my hands to the sleeves of his flannel shirt, gripping him tightly, holding on and afraid to let go.  He tilts his head to deepen the kiss and his leg maneuvers between mine.  I press down, rubbing against his thigh to try to alleviate the pressure building up in my core and I cry out as my clit drags against the inner seam of my jeans.  
  
Josh’s hands drop from my cheeks to my shoulders, down to my back and in one swift motion he is gripping my other set of cheeks and pulling me to him.  His erection is hard between us and the rigid curve of his shaft rests against my belly.  He tears his mouth away from mine to say, “If I’m moving too fast just tell me.”  And then he’s back and his teeth drag along my bottom lip and I officially lose myself in his taste and smell and touch.  
  
When he moves his hand down to the back of my thigh and lifts, directing me to wrap my leg high around his waist, I do.  And when he takes a step back and uses his grip on my ass to hint at me to jump up, I do.  And when he starts to walk down the hall to his bedroom as he groans into my mouth, I let him.  
  
He sets me down beside his bed and with his lips coaxing mine open to allow him entry he strips me of my clothes. We break long enough for me to pull his shirt over his head and him to do the same to me.  
  
Gently, with an arm supporting my back, he lays me down on his cool sheets.  His lips travel from breast to breast and then down, as if he’s mapped out this course, and he stops just beneath my navel.  I pick up my head to look at him and he must feel my eyes on his because he looks up at me before pressing his shoulders between my thighs and then lowering his mouth to my wet slit.  
  
He purses his lips and delivers a sweet lick to my lips, turning his face left and right between my legs.  His tongue delves deep into my folds and with one hand I grip his hair tightly to keep him right - there.  “There.”    
  
He inserts fingers and with a come hither motion in thirty seconds flat I’m coming.  I’ve just taken a deep breath when he says, “One more time.  You taste so good.”  
  
He flicks my clit with the tip of his tongue, his fingers remain inside me but are still and restful.  He draws lazy patterns and then gently scrapes his teeth against my labia majora.  I arch up off the bed on a hiss of pleasure and he does it again, switching sides.  My right hand twists his hair tight as I raise and lower my hips to his face, seeking that ultimate prize.  My left hand is outstretched and gripping the sheets tight.  The sound of crumpling plastic every time I clench my fist doesn’t even penetrate my sex-fogged brain.    
  
My clit pulses just on the edge of release and he moves his mouth to press against my inner thigh at the same time his fingers finally, blessedly, begin to pump in and out.  His thumb rubs my sensitive pearl at the exact moment the tips of his fingers rub against something inside me and I scream out as I come.    
  
And then my scream of pleasure becomes one of intense pain as his teeth bite down on the soft flesh of my inner thigh.  I try to push his head away but like a rabid dog with a bone he twists his head to the left and then the right and then he yanks his face away, taking a chunk of my flesh with him.  I curl in on myself, crying and balling up a wad of the pristine white sheet to press against the gash on my leg.  I scramble back, kicking against the mattress with my uninjured leg.    
  
“What the fuck, Josh?”  I cry out as I shake uncontrollably and try to push myself towards the edge of the bed and away from him.  I blink the tears out of my eyes long enough to look at his crazed expression.  He’s chewing something, grinning wide and smacking his lips together as blood runs from the corners of his mouth.  I have a horrifying feeling that it’s me in his mouth and I roll to my side and throw up against the down filled pillow.  
I hear the sound of him spitting out the mass and a wet plop hits my upper arm.  I can’t bring myself to look even as he grabs my good leg and pulls me back to him.  I try to bring my foot up to kick him but he catches it and instead bites the side of my foot hard.  I feel bone crunch and the stab of his teeth against the bottom of my arch throbs.  I try to shake him off, woozy and unable to exert much strength, and he releases his hold on me to instead wrestle the sheet from my hands.  It’s a weak game of tug-o-war and he eventually wins, tearing it from my grasp.    
  
His pins me down by my hips and lowers his face to the divot in my leg, left behind by his bite.  “Are you ready for the real fun to start?”  He smiles with his question and licks his lips right before he places his mouth to the raw gash and sucks hard.  
  
I black out with the knowledge that I won’t be leaving here, not even in the morning.  
  
-K-  
  
The door behind me opens and I listen to Josh’s grunt followed by a sporadic thumping that grows closer, as if he’s just rolled something down the stairs.  He doesn’t speak and I don’t bother looking up.  The door closes and I can tell I’m alone again.  
  
I’m still chained to the table just as he left me hours earlier.  There’s a difference though.  
  
Now I’m ready.  
  
Ready to fight back.  Ready to get out.  Ready to run.


	10. Bonus : 2

I don't have many regrets.  I enjoy life much more now that I have a certain respect for death.  Although I do not fear dying, I also do not wish it upon myself for a long while.  Because I try to stay positive and refuse to dwell on what could have been instead of what I have, I tend to enjoy life much more than many of my colleagues.  
  
My regrets I can count on one hand.    
  
My first regret is losing my virginity to that bitch.  Afterwards she told her friends, which were mine as well, that my middle name should have been premature instead of Ryan.  I tried to explain to her that it was my first time.  Of course I thought it was hers too back then.  She was a cunt.  Still is-now that I think about it.  
  
My second is lying to my mom when I was 16.  I had thrown a small party and something fairly inexpensive got broken but when she asked about it I told her I didn't know what happened.  She knew.  And even now, nearly a decade later, I can still see that disappointment in her eyes when she thinks I'm being untruthful.  In my mind it doesn't matter that I usually am lying.  But seeing that silent judgment aimed at me chips away at something on my insides.  I like to pretend it's my heart.  
  
My third and last regret has a name as well.  Why are people always the ones that we let down and feel the worst about?  Her name was Lydia.  
  
At Connor's sixteenth birthday party we were playing laser tag and she somehow ended up on my team.  I don't recall whether I chose her or she chose me, but we were allies for the next two hours.  
  
Afterward, the dozen of us went to grab pizza and when she slid into a booth seat across from me to sit closer to my brother I took notice.  When she turned to talk to him I was mesmerized by the way her straight brown hair shimmered in the fluorescent lighting above.  And when Connor ordered a milkshake with two straws for them to share, I knew I had to have her.  
  
I was 18.  She was 14 going on 15.    
  
I didn't realize then that it wasn't a sexual urge I was feeling but a different lust altogether.    
  
In the weeks that followed she was over to the house nearly every day.  I was between movies and home for the spring.  When she suddenly stopped coming over I questioned Connor about what happened to his girlfriend.  "She's moving.  We decided it was best to end it now before it got too serious.  Neither of us want a long distance relationship."  
  
My throat got tight at the thought of never seeing her again.  My pulse quickened and I felt like I was drowning in a void.  I didn’t go to see her. Not then.  
  
Spring ended and summer began and I traveled to the west coast to shoot a movie.    
  
On a rare day off I ventured down Hollywood Boulevard to a coffee shop and there she was.    
  
I stared at her - surprised and unsure of what to do.  A million thoughts racing through my mind  but the most prevalent was that something inside my blood told me I needed her.  I had to have her.  So I accidentally bumped into her and she smiled when she saw it was me.  
  
“Hey, Josh!”  
  
I stared back at her as if I didn’t remember her.  As if I could actually forget.  “Hi.”  
  
She laughed and heads turned our way, curious to find the source of that musical cadence.  “I’m sorry.  You probably don't remember me.  I’m Lydia.  I dated Connor a while back.”  
  
“Right!  Lydia!”    
  
And we sat together and drank coffee and she told me that her parents got a divorce and her dad brought her out to Los Angeles because she’d always wanted to try acting.  I told her that I lived a few blocks away and asked her if she wanted to come by.  
  
She did.  
  
And she never left.  
  
I dump the bodies always.  I sever the arms and legs and sometimes I use them for flavoring in broths or I use the meat and we have a nice meal, me and Driver.  I keep the heads too.  I fillet the skin off and boil the flesh away from the skull before I crush the bone to powder.  It’s a difficult process but one I have found necessary in order to destroy evidence.  
  
Lydia was not so different.  She had her head removed.  Her arms and legs as well.  Her pieces never left the premises though.  Her torso and limbs are all still on the property.  I keep them as a reminder of what I am capable of.  
  
And I have never taken the life of a child again.


End file.
